


A Hex of Infinite Binding

by misreall



Series: Physics is like sex: sure, it may give some practical results, but that's not why we do it. [1]
Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Demons, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, F/M, Inappropriate Humor, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Loki is a literal sex demon, Lots of sex basically, Magic, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Smut, This whole story is dubious, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-04 12:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16346738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misreall/pseuds/misreall
Summary: Nora is a witch asked to deal with a problem at a fancy night club.  A problem with long horns and a dirty smile.





	1. A Good Problem is Still a Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Just for Halloween Incubus Loki and Witchy Nora. A special thank you to my beloved Caffiend for the lend of some of her best toys.
> 
> Inspired by this gorgeous art by White Rabbit - https://w-rabbitart.tumblr.com/post/178622391954/doodling-incubus-loki-its-so-exhausting

“Well now that you have me, precious, what are you going to do with me?” the demon in her bed asked, yawning a bit.  

Actually, he - for the demon was clearly, if perhaps only illusorily, male - was  _ on _ her bed rather than _ in _ it.  He had draped his massive, black fur coat across it and then draped himself on top of that.  The perfect, pale skin of his bare chest and arms almost glowed by comparison, and his long, silky hair was even darker than the fur.  The heavy ivory horns that protruded from his forehead should have been disturbing, or at least detracted from his insulting, assaulting beauty, but rather they were the perfect, crowning touch.

His brilliant green eyes were lazy and slitted, as if she and the fact that she had managed to bind him were _ just  _ too boring and he was going to fall asleep if things didn’t get interesting quick.

Of course, the size of the erection that was visibly ruining the line of his very tight leather pants might have told a different story.  Might have, but Nora knew that in the case of an Incubus an almost constant priapic state was normal. 

Twitching now and then.  Large, and long, and more than a little distracting, but normal…

Probably.

“Banishment,” she said, crossing her arms.  

He raised himself up on bent arms, an astonished look briefly taking the place of the boredom, and then he burst into laughter.  “Oh, really? This should be good.”

                     ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Being a witch, from a long line of witches, meant that from time to time Nora found herself with strange people on her porch needing help.  Usually they were actually looking for her aunt Claire, who was famous in the supernatural community, not only in the Chicago area but most of the midwest.  Once a fellow practitioner had driven all of the way from Oklahoma with a dybbuk possessed huskie that was clearly smarter than his own even before being taken over by the evil spirit, just to get her aunt’s assistance.

Claire, not sure what to do that time, had sent him to a Semetic neopagan circle in Skokie with fingers crossed.  

But Claire had died of cancer the year before, it being one of the diseases that even healing magic couldn’t combat and Nora, out of respect for her aunt’s memory if for no other reason, would do what she could to help those who came to her door.  Usually needy, or demanding, and there was never any talk about remuneration. 

Nora blamed  _ Charmed _ for that, giving everyone the idea that witches couldn’t take payment for their help.  She hoped the reboot of the show would change that little misapprehension but she doubted it.

In the case of the bar owner with the ghost problem, at least she had brought donuts.  Donut Vault donuts, so Nora was happy to at least listen.

Plus, it was always good to have bar owner or two who owed you a favor, even though Cheryl “Call me Ryl” Rowland’s place was very much not Nora’s kind of watering hole, being expensive, on the north side of the river - in River North no less - chock full of far too well dressed patrons, and had “mixologists” instead of bartenders.  

That said, the house drink at The Tithe House, made with aged rum, pecan liquor, and something that the handsome but sadly, badly bearded waiter referred to as ‘holy water,’ was tasty as hell and very strong.  She was going to need at least three of them before the night was over, since she wasn’t getting any money but she was getting annoyed.

Even though the style of the place was woody and looked like an old men’s club, complete with deep leather chairs and unusual, probably actually antique, decorations, for that night’s costume party one of the other owners had brought in an EDM DJ.  

“Ryl” had two partners.  The EDM guy was Drew, a ‘bro’ type who brought in a lot of money, knew every jackass in the River North area, and gave away too many free drinks.  Cheryl was desperate to buy him out, but he wasn’t her worst issue. 

Nora was beginning to think it was the other, silent partner, who Cheryl and Drew were both sort of vague on.  Like how he had bought in. 

Or if he _ had  _ bought in.  Every time she tried to get any details about it they both just got dreamy and said, “Oh, it was… he was…” and then kind of giggled and blushed and seemed to forget what they were talking about.

They didn’t even know what his actual name was.  He went by Loki, which had to be a nickname.

What they did know, and didn’t seem to have connected the dots with, was he had shown up around the same time that the haunting of their club started the month before.  Poltergeist activity in the main bar, with things moving on their own and patrons being tripped or having things spilled on them or otherwise harassed. Usually patrons who were there on dates with someone very attractive of either sex. 

When the harassed party went to complain, or clean up, their dates would often be lured away to a more secluded part of the bar, though by who or for what reason they could never remember.  

Sometimes they were found unconscious.

One of them was found nearly dead.

Strangely, no one seemed to want to involve the cops.  Not only the owners, but the victims as well, who, when they finally came around either at the bar or when the EMTs worked on them, seemed more grateful than unhappy.

Giggling and blushing.

Nora shook her head.  It didn’t sound like a haunting. 

She took another drink, wincing at the music.  Then she noticed something that seemed out of place with the decor of the club sitting on the end of restored, zinc bartop.  She motioned for the mixologist.

“What is that?  It kind of clashes, doesn’t it?”

The statuette was about two feet tall, and glowed in a way that made her think it was alabaster.  Even if she wasn’t sure that she had ever seen actual alabaster before. Maybe at the Art Institute.  Maybe. Which was probably where this piece belonged.

It looked to have grown rather than crafted by human hands, so perfect was every curve and angle.  The figure was male. Very male. Rampantly male, with a gorgeously arching cock that was clearly based on fantasy rather than physical probability.  The broad shoulders, the big hands with very detailed veins and sinews, and the sense of swagger were deeply masculine as well. But something in its sinuosity, its lithe grace, and its borderline pretty features gave it just a touch of the androgyne as well.  The horns, as thick and graceful as its cock spoke for themselves. 

They said, "Run."

But as a whole it seemed to be looking over one of those broad shoulders with knowing eyes, as if to say, “I may be pretty, darling, and even a little scary, but I can fuck you till you call me daddy.”

Nora shook her head hard and drained her drink.  Ok, it was clearly ensorcelled in some way.

The mixologist stared at the sculpture for a minute, as if he had never seen it before, then said, “Oh, yeah, the new partner.  He brought it in. Said it would be good luck so he gave it to… Actually, wait, it must have been before he…”

The mixologist stopped, befuddled.

Good luck.

Right.

“Can you get Ryl for me?”

              -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For four days Nora tried to figure out how to banish the Incubus.  She tried finding out his true name. He had somehow removed it from the Book of Life and Death.  She tried washing her windows and doors with herbally enhanced soap. He asked her to pick up better conditioner the next time she was out.  Bumble and Bumble, perhaps. She had done some smudging, even though it wasn’t part of her tradition. He materialized a bowl made of Murano glass and smoked her out of the second floor with Cannabis Caviar so strong she ate two party sized bags of Vitner’s Tangy Triple Cheese chips and fell asleep on the floor of the kitchen, waking up with linoleum scars on her cheek.

Nothing worked, and no one in her aunt’s old rolodex or amongst her own connections seemed to have any answers.  Demons were pretty rare no matter what genre television and books said, and most of those that were around were possessing people, not in their own bodies, which meant that he was more powerful on this plane that most of those others. 

By the fifth day she started looking into a more powerful binding, trying to figure out how to get him back into the statuette.  It took her until the end of the week, after using every method she could think of from winding it in red, waxed string to dousing it in a combination of lamb’s blood, rosemary, and snake sperm - which she was relieved to find some of in the chest freezer in the basement, Aunt Claire had everything tucked away somewhere in the house.  

_ Nothing  _ worked.

The Incubus spent most of the time on her bed, reading or sleeping, or in her shower, using up all of her hot water and complaining about the quality of her shampoo, soap, skin care items, everything really, although it made no difference.  His skin was always smooth, perfectly covering his lithe body, each lanky bit of muscle beautifully defined as he moved his torso, his long, elegant feet callus-free where they were propped up on her extra pillows, his hair a tousled, silken mane.  

Nora missed her bed.  Claire’s mattress had needed to be replaced ten years ago, but she had refused, saying that its lumps and sags matched her lumps and sags.

She missed her shower.  The water pressure in the downstairs bathroom was terrible.  

And she was desperately, hideously, nearly painfully hard up.  From the smell of him permeating her little house - smoke and citrus and salt and sex - that left her wet all day to the dark, erotic but always vague and unresolved dreams she had all night every night, Nora was worn out by the end of the week.  

Normally she would have taken care of it herself, but she knew he would know if she did anything.  As it was, he clearly found her state hilarious. 

“I could help you with that.  It wouldn’t be any trouble. A lovely, big orgasm for you and a tiny, probably not very satisfying snack for me…” he would called out on Monday, his deep, sonorous voice amused at the idea. 

By the next Sunday, after a week of failure on her part and teasing on his, there were dark circles under both of their eyes.  He was getting hungry and less amused.

He lounged in the door of her bedroom, dangling one of her old paperbacks in his hand.  Even the way one of his long fingers was pressed between the pages to hold his place seemed erotic to Nora by that point.  His voice was teasing but not light, “I know you need it as much as I do, precious.”

He stroked himself through his leather pants, “I can  _ feel _ how needy you are,” his hand trailed up, up the path of hair to his navel, where he swirled a fingertip.  “It makes me ache to smell you, to know that you ache too.” He rolled his head back, a lazy grin on his face, mocking them both, “Tell daddy where it hurts so he can lick it all better…”

That night she got in touch with her cousin Maura in Ireland.  This was going to take some help from the Old Country.

Maura was good with technology AND magic, which seemed vastly unfair.  Especially when you added in her perfect and very fit body - martial arts, her long legs - she being one of the few women that could make Nora feel short, and her tumble of black curls about her Celtic queen features. 

Despite her black Irish princess looks, Nora adored her cousin, who was also a sweetheart and a very talented witch, even though she enjoyed the studious part of the Craft more than the practical.

“Hey cousin!  What’s going on in Chi-town?” Maura said, a big grin on her face as she appeared on her desktop screen.

Nora could never get her to stop calling it ‘Chi-town,’ but it sounded cute with her accent.  “Blustery, corrupt, and now with a demon infestation. Oh, wait, that’s just my bedroom.” She explained the story of the Incubus and the nightclub, and how she’d gotten Ryl to sell her the statue for a dollar.

“Ok, so I get that bit.  Official transfer of ownership is ritualistically powerful and all that. But what I can’t figure is why you’d put that in your bedroom, knowing what it is,” Maura leaned in, leering comically.  “Having that hard a time pulling these days, coz?”

“Ha ha!  Funny coming from the Semi-Virgin of Belfast!  I didn’t plan to leave it there, actually. But I had my working room door removed so you can only get to it through the connecting closet in my bedroom.  I set it down for a second - it’s damned heavy - so I could get the door, and bam! Demon in my bedroom and the statue seems to be superglued to the floor.”

Maura frowned, her eyes suddenly serious, “You best get it out sooner rather than later.  The longer it’s in your home the wider it’s influence. Eventually it will be able to move out of the bedroom, and it’s… allure will start to spread.  You’ll have a line of horny neighbors on your front porch and cluttering up your parlour in no time. Do you have it’s name?”

“Not it’s true name, obviously, or I’d have sent it back to Hell by now.  It calls itself Loki.”

“Loki?’  You don’t suppose-”

“No.  But I’m guessing that when we find out it’s history there is going to be some seedy stuff that happened in Scandinavia.”

Maura did some computer stuff while Nora checked her emails and tried not to hear her houseguest walking around upstairs talking on his cellphone.  The one time she’d listened to one of his calls she’d blushed for the first time in her adult life and then gone straight to the kitchen to pour ice water over her head.

After some creative swearing and furious typing Maura looked up, “I have nothing worth the repeating in my records.  Listen, though, I just heard about this wizard - an honest to Jesus and the Holy Mother wizard in this day and age - teaches at Cambridge.”

“He teaches wizardry at Cambridge?  Is that it’s own department or is it under the sciences?”

“What?  No, he doesn’t teach wizardry!  I know you’ve never actually been to Britain, but contrary to what you Yanks think we aren’t all running off to Hogwarts or live in some twee village in the Cotswolds.  He’s in the Classics department - dead Greeks and all. It’s his day job. But he is a wizard and is supposedly an expert in Demonology, summoning, banishing, the whole bit.  I’ll get in touch.”

“Better do it soon,” Nora said, looking at her ceiling. She had definitely heard the words “kneel”, “good boy”, and “ _ I'll  _ tell you when you can’t take any more.”  

She was the one who probably couldn’t take anymore.

“Yup.  If he’s a wizard he’s probably old as the hills, need to get to him before he gives up the ghost.  Let me just see if…” she played with her phone for a minute, “Got it here, Thomas Pine. I’ll be quick as I can.  Love you, coz.”

“Love you back,” Nora said, but the screen had already gone dark.

“Now wasn’t that sweet,” purred a dark voice in her ear.  “Who is the lucky fellow? Or lady? No, man, I’m fairly sure.  I have a good sense of these things.” 

The incubus had laid his long hands on her shoulders, so softly she didn’t even jump, and as he spoke, his warm, anise and tangerine scent stroked her skin, his words tickled and soothed the delicate flesh of her ear and cheek, and he lightly started to knead her tense muscles.  

It was all she could do not to melt, but even with the effort she still moaned as her shoulders relaxed and her cunt tensed and prickled with sudden, absolute arousal. 

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” she mumbled.

“Please, call me Loki,” he chuckled, each ratcheting sound boiling in her blood.  “And behind you is only one of the places I plan to be…”


	2. Troubles Come Not One at a Time But Crowd Into Your Yard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nora tries to deal with her new roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a long chapter, because what's funnier than someone droning on and on, right?

Loki was off of his game.  

He was _ never  _ off of his game.  

He had invented his game.  

Hell, he’d invented all of the games.  All of the good ones, anyway.

He blamed the fact that he had only been free of the statue this time for a few weeks and had not entirely regained his full strength.  The last proper owner of his earthly tether had been the jealous type and had declared in her will that the statue be dropped into the ocean along with her ashes.  Alas, the executor of the estate had been asexual and one of the small number of beings Loki had ever met who was completely unmoved by his wiles. 

However, the man had been an art lover and rather than consigning Loki to who knows how many hundreds of years to fishy embraces - the last mermaid having died out in the eighteenth century - he had taken the statue home to be hidden in his private study.  

Loki was forced to stay in his alabaster cage until the man died.

When the man’s effects were auctioned off, having done a poor job with his own estate, Drew the Idiot had been in attendance with his cute, beard of a girlfriend, looking for some more bits to decorate his club.  He’d worn a scally cap and a t-shirt to the auction, and had a manspread that even the Incubus found garish, forcing his poor lady friend to sit with her knees pulled up to her chin or end up on the lap of the elderly gentleman next to her.

Loki had been so weak at that point it had only been the power of Drew’s long-denied sexuality that gave him the strength to pull his near incorporeal and entirely invisible self from the statue.  No one had noticed - least of all the Idiot - Loki boredly making subliminal, filthy chat into Drew’s ear. 

When he won the statue, Drew was so excited he promptly came in his pants.  Which is was probably why he blocked the whole experience later.

Once in the bar, he had slowly worked on easing himself into his full strength.  It was a sign of his power and age that he had not simply gone in for a gluttonous orgy.  But that kind of thing left bodies in its wake, and he’d seen more than one unfortunate succubus or incubus show too little caution, ending up with a pile of corpses and no one left alive to take the blame for it.

Not that he hadn’t made more than a few of those mistakes in his own youth.  

But it was sloppy kid’s stuff and he prided himself on never taking a life without intending to do so.  

Witches were always worth pleasuring to the grave because of the net gain from their strength.

But it meant that when _that_ particular witch, that skinny, stubborn, provoking brown-eyed witch, showed up at the club he had missed her aura entirely, being too distracted by the sucking power of a charmingly plump and thick-legged girl with blue-black skin named Liltha that he had lured easily into one of the empty balconies above the main bar.  By the time he had rewarded her endeavors with a full mouth and a wracking orgasm, he had become aware that there was a fairly powerful practitioner in the building but it was too late. 

A deal had been struck and the next thing he knew he was on the South Side in a bedroom in a rather tatty bungalow, with a rather annoyed looking woman with narrow, bright eyes and her fists on her hips frowning at him.  All witches gave off a bit of a spicy smell, either from their auras or from all of those fiddly little potions they were forever mixing. 

This one smelled of cardamom, brown sugar, and warm skin that needed to be nuzzled and licked everywhere.  And power. Lovely, lovely, abundant power.

When he laid his coat over her bed he had thought that she would be on her back, writhing around on it, drenching it that gorgeous smell so he would have something to remember her by after he drained her dry, thus pulling in enough force to free himself from his tether once and for all.

Except she resisted.  And kept resisting. For days on end.  

No one had ever denied him for so long.  Certain no one with as healthy of a sex drive as she clearly had.  Or so he assumed based on the heady smell of her need that had him near to swooning at times.  As well as the very serviceable set of sex toys she kept in her boudoir. Serviceable, but not special.  

There was a beautiful amber and gold glass dildo/flogger combination he had planned on having either Drew or Ryl expense for him at the club.  Loki would love the chance use both ends on her. The warm tones of it would suit her coffee colored hair and the light freckles on her arms and bridge of her nose and would look good in his pale hand as he twisted it into her clasping cunt over and over again….

And the delicate, rapidly darkening red marks.  But where?

On her hips, he thought, wrapping around them like his fingers would when he fucked her bent over that old, scratched up oak desk in the corner of her bedroom.  

He would even match his fingers to them when he did it, making her skin sting and her ass jump.

He stopped himself from thinking about those freckles.  And about the throaty, snorting laugh he heard when she watching a movie.  He tried only to think about how she would taste - her mouth, her dripping sex, her ass, her power, her life.  

But.

But.

She had good taste in books.  And underwear. And not much else.  Her clothing was appalling, with too long skirts, too baggy shirts, too low heels.  Of her hair and skin care regime there was nothing to be said! He had overthrown better regimes than what she used to prevent fly-aways and wrinkles.  

Her name was Nora, he found out, even though she had not introduced herself. It was written in a childish hand on the inside page of a copy of Dorrie and the Blue Witch that she kept on her dressing table.  And based on what he found reading her Book of Shadows, she wasn’t just strong, she knew a thing or two about magic. 

If he was going to get what he needed from her before she figured out how to banish him or bind him permanently, he was going to need to get much closer to her.  Luckily he had enough numbers in his cellphone, and enough willing phone sex partners, that he was able to gather enough strength expand his territory out of her room, though he kept that a secret.

Then off of the second floor.

Then through the whole house.

And then he could touch her.

“Ugh, my aunt and all of my ancestresses are spinning in their graves,” Nora moaned, letting her whole body slump forward so her head rested on Claire’s old, formica kitchen table.  

His working of her shoulders felt so good, so perfect, that she didn’t care if she got toast crumbs in her hair.  

“Why would they care?”  His voice as so dark, his baritone somehow both smooth and raspy at the same time, yet the tone was light and amused.  “I thought they were ahead of the game on the whole female empowerment deal.”

“Because I’m a witch, you’re a demon, and-”

He stopped working her shoulders, and she sat up to see him lounging, cross-armed and smirking against the bright yellow door to the basement. “I prefer ‘fallen angel,’ pet.  So much prettier.” He had left his fur coat somewhere and was still shirtless, though he had a kind of harness around his narrow hips and broad shoulders, formed from from black leather straps one of which was connected to a platinum ring through his left nipple. 

An almost irresistible need to grab one of those straps and pull him to her made Nora hate herself.  And loathe him. Sort of. 

“Of course you do,” Nora stood and stretched, hating how much better she felt from just that brief, almost innocent contact.  And how much worse in other parts of herself. “So where are your wings, angel? Do you mind it I call you angel, by the way? It makes me feel like a hard boiled private eye.”

He made a motion with his hand to the effect that nothing she said could matter to him in the least, while smirking harder.  “It’s a trade off. Lose the wings, acquire these,” he answered, continuing the motion with a graceful flick of his wrist in the generally direction of his horns.

“Seems like you got the worse end of that deal.”

“Not at all.  Have you ever tried to be fitted for  William Westmancott Ultimate Bespoke with two great big swans’ appendages sticking out of your back?  I am certain it cannot be done, pet, cannot be done! Even those sorcerers of stitching would fail,” he mused thoughtfully.

Nora had no idea what a William Watchmatcallit was, other than it was probably very expensive.  “You’re quite a label whore, aren’t you? Coffee?” she asked, hoping to have enough caffeine to have an excuse for her hands shaking, other than arousal so acute it was making her a little sick.

“Please.  And I pride myself on being every kind of whore.  Pet.” 

When he picked up the mug of coffee that almost disappeared in his big, long fingered hands, he blew on it, making it boil over the brim.  

His deep green eyes stared into hers as he agily licked each drip off of the side of the cup with his almost pointed tongue.  

When she sighed a little more breathily than could be considered merely being annoyed, the corner of his lips lifted and his eyes flickered with the most brilliant red hellfire.

Nora overturned the rest of her coffee into his lap.

Loki t’sked at her, “Really, pet.  Is that any way to treat a guest?” he asked, standing up with a splash as some of the drink rolled off his leather pants on to the floor.

“I’d say you are more of the pet at the moment.  Rather than a guest. After all, I kind of own yo-  What Are You Doing?!” she yelled, standing so quickly herself that she knocked over her chair.

He had flicked open the button on his pants and was now with a glacial slowness opening his zipper tooth by tooth, each click far too loud for human couture.  Those things had clearly been tailored in Lucifer’s private atelier. 

“Don’t play coy.  I have been through your… drawers.  You are no innocent and at least some part of you was hoping for this,” he said.  The unzipping finished, he dropped his eyes down to watch himself spread his fly open.

Hell did not believe in underpants.

Nora stood up, grabbed the light jacket she kept near the kitchen door and her pocketbook from the counter and quickly left her own home.  She walked three blocks with white noise in her head, reaching Maria’s Packaged Goods and the bar behind it without having seen a damned thing the whole way.

Jennie was working the bar and didn’t even ask what she wanted, pouring a shot of Redbreast.  “Are you ok?”

Nora’s hand shook so hard she almost spilled the whisky.  “No…” she whispered. “I’m terrified.”

When she finally returned, Loki had made popcorn and was sprawled on her couch, watching one of Claire’s old movies,  _ All About Eve _ , which Nora loved.  

Except in this version, Addison DeWitt was a very sadistic dominant who spent a great deal of effort and time revealing to Eve Harrington exactly how much of sub she really was.  Damn, George Saunders was hot.

“Um, I’m getting a beer, do you want one?”

“I’m fine for the moment, thank you,” he answered pleasantly.

“Would you mind pausing that until I get back?”

“Not at all.”

 

For the next three days, while Nora waited to hear from Maura, Loki eased off a little bit, seemingly content for the time being to have more room to prowl around in.  He even manifested a shirt at one point. It was deep green silk and he never buttoned it, but it was something.

It was a little like having a roommate.  Who turned everything he watched on her television into pornography.   Which was fine for the most part, Nora didn’t watch many shows, and most of the few she did watch were actually improved by it.  Although she wasn’t going to ever watch Chopped again.

And the Channel Nine Morning News was forever ruined for her.  Larry Potash looked pretty good naked, but she would never unsee what it was that Paul Conrad was into.  

But they had settled into a rhythm, both of them waiting.  Both of them feeling each other out, learning what they could about each other, all of the while looking for a weakness, an in.  Loki had taken to cooking, once he had eaten her appropriately named garbage spaghetti. “I don’t know why you care, since you don’t have to eat food.  Or why I am even feeding you for that matter,” she groused as he picked up both of their plates and threw them entirely into the trash. “Hey! They go in the sink.”

“The memory of that meal could never be washed away, pet.  What did zucchini do to you to deserve such a fate?” he muttered, making small, perfect slices of garlic.  “And no, I do not need to eat, but I enjoy it nonetheless. If I cook perhaps you will as well.”

As she moaned her way through dinner, watching his eyes flicker with hellfire every as she licked her fingers, it occurred to Nora that he was just trying another tack to seduce her.  Well, she thought to herself, raising her wine glass to the chef, it was going to take more than a superior, supernatural Bolognaise to get her to give it up.

It took the zombies on her porch to do that.

 

_ Meanwhile, in England…. _

Thomas Pine, Doctor of the Classics, Sorcerer at Large, and the last living _ nec divinos absoluta _ in the world as far as anyone knew, was not an old man.  

He was a young man.  With dark wavy hair and intent blue eyes that seemed to see everything for all that he wore a pair of tortoise shell glasses.

A young, fit man.

A young, fit, very, very handsome, tall, deep voiced man.

A young, fit, very, very handsome, tall, deep voiced man with a beautifully maintained Tudor manor house filled with magical esoterica and antiques and wonderfully lavish furnishings.

Who was currently at his wits end with Maura McClaren.  

He had readily agreed to help her research Nora’s little demon problem, since actual physical manifestations were so rare in the modern world.  But he was not good with being rushed and as they sat across from each other at his vast, mahogany desk searching through ancient tomes he was almost vibrating with annoyance at her constant interruptions.  

Maura knew it, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.  Something about the cool, elegant Englishman made her want to push him a bit, see if she could make him lose some of that composure.  

After five minutes of silence between them, Maura cleared her throat, “Um…”

His knuckles went pale and the leather of the massive book he was reading groaned in his tightening fingers, the sight of which made Maura come over all funny inside.  But otherwise he seemed to not even hear her.

“Um, maybe if we just, you know, went to Chi-”

“Miss McClaren,” he said, his voice calm and disinterested as he continued reading, “if you interrupt me one more time before I am finished with this particular work I will find it a necessity to paddle your pert little bottom until you learn to keep quiet and be respectful whilst the person you have come to for help tries to do so.”

Maura felt herself blush, her mouth closing with a snap.  Then, before she knew what she was doing, she spoke, “I was just thinking that-”

Thomas closed the book after leaving a marker on his page, took off his glasses which he carefully placed in a drawer, and removed his tweed jacket, then slowly and with great precision rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt.  His voice remained calm and disinterested, speaking as he prepared, “Please go and lock the door of my office, Miss McClaren, then take off your knickers, bend over my desk, and prepare to count to twelve.”

Maura froze.

His large, beautiful right hand slapped down onto the mahogany with a crack, “Now!”

She was halfway across the room before the echo stopped.

 

_ Back in Chicago _ ….

On the morning of the third day someone rang Nora’s doorbell.  

It was one of her neighbors, Kara Perenico, who Nora loathed for many reasons, starting with her personality and ending with the giant Christmas manger scene she put in her yard every year with an enormous, “The Reason for the Season,” banner floating over it, while blaring bad Christian rock holiday music from outdoor speakers.

Nora used to like Christmas…

Now Kara was standing on her porch, no coat on that damp October morning, almost hopping from foot to foot.  “Hi Nora, can I come in?” she said, her voice artificially bright.

“No.  Why?”

“No reason.  I just really need to,” she grabbed Nora’s hand and looked into her eyes, her voice deepening, “you can’t know how badly I need to.”

After shaking her hand free, Nora closed the door on the woman, who stayed on the porch. Nora drank coffee and stared out of her window, watching as she was joined by a few other neighbors, the beat cop, a guy who worked at the laundromat on the corner, and several of the baristas from Bridgeport Roasters.  

They stood on the porch and the stairs and milled about her lawn, at first all agitated, but then falling into a state rather like sleepwalking, not speaking, just shuffling around a little and staring at her front door.

“LOKI!” she shouted up the stairs.

“What do you require, pet?”  He called back down.

“For you to stop calling me that and come down here.”

He walked slowly down the stairs, dressed only in black suede leggings and his nipple ring.   “Happy to do the one, but you will forever be out of luck on the second.”

“C’mere and look at this.”

He pushed aside Claire’s old blue curtains with an elegant hand and visible shudder at the cheapness of the fabric, “Oh, yes, that’s because of me.  More coffee?”

“What do you mean because of you?  What are they doing?”

“Responding to my pheromones, for lack of a better description.  The hungrier I get the more of them I put out. It’s just going to get worse, by the by,” he stood spread legged in the door of her kitchen, stirring a cup of very sweet coffee.  “By the end of the week they’ll be six deep in the street unless you give me at least a snack. If you don’t want to do it yourself you could just pick one to let in and avert your eyes.”

Nora reached into the little closet in the kitchen and pulled out a broom.  

Loki raised a brow, “How on the nose.”

She snorted and went out to sweep the crowd off of her property.

 

Loki stood in the window.  He could feel himself smiling at his adorable little witch as she gathered power into the symbol her authority used it to push his admirers into the street.  She was not above typical power for one of her kind but she made up for it by being clever, using tools rather than wasting her strength.

Truthfully, he had gone much longer without feeding before.  Decades longer. And he was used to being hungry at any rate.  The effects of his doing without shouldn’t be being felt yet. But something about Nora made him voracious.  Being in this little hovel with her, everything drenched in her scent, watching her brilliant eyes calculate at him at the same time that she unwittingly licked her lips had left him starving.  

He was going to have her, and if she tasted a quarter as good as he suspected he might have to keep her having her until she was empty.

 

It wasn’t hard to do a spell to keep anyone who didn’t have actual business away from her house.  A little salt, translating her deed into Gaelic and reading it aloud while putting a line of rosemary at her walkway and the lust zombies were forced to pine away at a reasonable distance.

Sadly, that didn’t save her from walking around from her back garden in time to see her postman on his knees before her door, performing cunnilingus on the mailslot.  Poor Mr. James! He was such a lovely, dignified man.

It was too much.

“Ok, what is the bare minimum we can do to make this stop?” she said, gesturing to the mass of people on the sidewalk.  “How about a kiss. A nice big one?”

Loki was on the couch again, this time reading a version of Martin Chuzzlewit that Mr. Dickens would never have recognised.  “If you are referring about taking the edge off of my hunger then no, a kiss will do nothing for me. I do kiss, of course, your kind seem to like it and it can help move things along, but I require more.”

He stood stretching, and slowly walked to her, his eyes growing less green and more red, til they glowed like rubies in a fire.  Putting a hand over her head so he leaned on the wall and loomed over her, “Bare minimum, pet, you will have to let me finger you,” he purred, trailing the blade of his hand down the side of her face and then scratching lightly on her neck.  Nora found herself on her toes, her nipples tight enough to hurt, her thighs shaking, her panties soaked. She become aroused so quickly her pussy prickled and ached.

“Fuck,” she said with a quake to her voice.

“If you prefe-”

“No, lets just get it over with.  They are starting to block traffic.”

For just a second a look of real anger crossed his beautiful face.  He lifted his chin and looked down at her from over his cheekbones, haughty and imperious.  “I could make this last until you beg me for mercy with a broken voice and then give you none, pet.  Best to be a little less rude,” his voice was deep and there was no hint of the languid flirt about him now.

It suddenly occurred to Nora that a demon was a demon.  “Are you going to force m-”

Then he laughed, light and amused again, “I’m a sex demon.  I seduce people into doing what they want to do anyway. Not a rape demon.   _ They _ are assholes.”

Then, before she could move, he picked her up and carried her to the couch - after strangely stopping to open the door to the living room closet part way - then laying her down and stretching out at her side.  It briefly occurred to her that the old thing shouldn’t have been wide enough for them both lay like that, let alone long enough for him to stretch out on comfortably. 

It also occurred to her that she wasn’t wearing pants any longer, or underpants.

“Now,” he said conversationally, his head propped up on his palm, “slow or fast… slow, I think.”

He slid his other hand under the end of her sweater so it sat warmly on her stomach, where he gently made circles.  “What are you doing?” His skin on hers was already too much and she licked her lips again and again.

“I do want to be sure you are ready, pet,” he said softly, his eyes narrow and glowing, but not unkind.  Rather, he was studying her.

Nora snorted, “As if I haven’t been ready for days…”  

He pressed just a little, his hand moving downwards, now circling the skin there, just above where she really wished he’d be getting on with things.  Instead he kept doing it, every now and then pressing with just the very tips of his fingers on something in her that made her hips start to circle in time with his touch.

She let her eyes flutter closed, finding something just a little lonely about that studying look on his face.

A sharp pinch to her clit made her whole body jump with two feelings at once, “What the-”

“Eyes open, please.  It’s part of my… process?  Spread your legs wider,” he added, then before she could hooked an ankle with one of his long, bare feet and pulled her open.  “Ah,” he was looking away now, to the end of the couch.

Nora raised her head a bit.  That’s why he had opened the closet door.  The mirror on the inside of it now showed her from an angle she’s never seen before.  “Such a pretty clit you have, Nora,” he spoke appreciatively now as he softly circled what he spoke of.  This time when she closed her eyes he didn’t stop her, as if he knew she would open them again, as drawn to look as he was.

The sound of her wet as he gathered some of, just barely touching where she opened hopefully for him, and then covered her clit in moisture as he petted and stroked it, all with just one finger.  When she reached for his hand he stopped playing with her and t’sked.

“No, no, I do this as I want or not at all, and then who knows how many of those poor dears outside will be there by morning?”

Frustrated and not trusting herself and  _ needing _ him to move his hand, having to have more, all of the tension of days and days with the embodiment of not just the dirty dreams she was having now but of all of the ones she’d ever had, Nora stuffed one hand under the couch cushion beneath her and found her other, flailing hand around one of his horns. 

It was ridged and the curve felt perfect in her hand and hot.  It was as hot as an engor-

He moaned, “What are you doing to me?”  His voice was deeper and rougher. She could feel it vibrate through his chest, through his fingertips, and her hips leapt and her cunt closed around nothing.

Loki pressed his horns into her hand, like a cat desperate for his ears to be scratched.  Nora let her hand slide down the length of it to where it emerged from his perfect skin and hair.  His glowing eyes slitted to nothing. “Who do you think you are toying with?” he growled, plunging two fingers deep into her clasping hole.  “Watch,” he commanded her.

Still holding the base of his horn, almost squeezing, Nora looked at the mirror and watched his fuck her with his fingers.  The wet from her rolled down the backs of his hand, and the sound of it was past obscene into something almost transcendently filthy.  With a careful curl of one finger his nail lightly abraded her G-spot, sending more liquid, more pleasure shooting through her. Her feet planted themself and she pushed her hips up, needing more, just a little more, just a little more, as he always held back from just that last bit that would send her over.  Why hadn’t she come yet? How could she not have? Nothing had ever been as good as this and already all she could think of was more and more and another time and another, and it all felt too good but she couldn’t get there. He wouldn’t let her, wouldn’t take her, and a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye.

A pointed tongue licked it away at the same time that he put both fingers deeper in her, finding mysteries even to her, the heel of his hand tenderly grinding down her clit and she came, flooding the cup of his palm, her cunt convulsing about his touch, her scream of pleasure feeding him.

When he finally let her stop, she was still clutching at his fingers, her own still clutching his horn.  He freed himself and licked them clean as she still trembled next to him. His eyes were closed, his thin, clever mouth tight, “So delicious.”  

As if he didn’t know what he was doing he kissed her, his tongue still tasting of her stroking over hers, idly fucking her mouth as if there were nothing else to do in all of the world, pulling her tightly to him.

Then, abruptly, he let her go, sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as if disgusted.  “What do you think you’re playing at?” He sounded angry again.

Nora, the suddenness of his change almost taking her breath away as the afterglow of the best sexual experience of her not inexperienced life was ripped from her, pushed him out of her way to stand up.  “I’m playing at taking a shower. And you better return my pants. Those were my favorites,” she added, going upstairs with a stiff back that she maintained until she was out of his sight. Then she sagged and sighed.

 

Loki stared out the window, watching the confused and embarrassed crowd disperse but not really seeing them.  He made fists and then released them, unaware that he was doing so. 

Thousands of years, tens of thousands of humans, and for the first time ever, he was not hungry.  He was satiated by the merest of sexual acts. He’d led orgies that had toppled Empires and had walked away peckish.  Now, after playing on a couch with Nora for all of an hour he just wanted to roll over and take a nap.

It wasn’t possible!  Lucifer’s punishment precluded his being satisfied in any way.  

He was to be forever hungry.

Forever unsatisfied.

Forever alone.  

He heard Nora’s hot water pipes complain as she turned on her shower.  

Clenching his fist one last time, he stood quickly and followed her upstairs.

  
  
  
  
  



	3. Oh, That’s a Problem…..

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad choices abound. So do bad monks.

_ Three days later…. _

“Hey, coz, sorry I missed you yesterday,” Nora said, hoping she didn’t look too shifty.

“No, that’s… not to worry…” Maura said, looking up at something, then to the right, then the left, and finally at her screen, giving Nora a weak smile.  She was also squirming around on her desk chair as if she couldn’t get comfortable.

All which occurred to Nora later because at the time she was very busy trying to project, “No, I have not been letting Loki… I mean an _ incubus _ , an incubus that I have developed no feelings for because that would be stupid, just a random incubus, fuck me brainless for the last few days.”

 

_ Previously _ …

“Don’t remember asking you if you wanted to join me in the shower.”

“I do not recall you saying I should not join you in the shower.”

Nora raised her hands in frustration, “Because that isn’t something that needs to be said!”

“To me it does,” Loki said, smirking down at her, as he stepped around into the bathroom, starting to take off his pants.  He stopped half undone and looked around. “You know, I’ve been informed that the bathrooms at the Athletic Association Hotel have _massive_ Carrera marble tubs, so relaxing and more than enough room for two.  I know the night manager there excessively well, and he would be so very pleased to comp me a suite.”

“Yeah, no,” Nora said, pulling off her sweater, dragging the bra with it, assuming that nudity for her present company was a thrill on the level of not quite cold coffee, then got into the shower before he could.  “The last thing I am going to do is take you- woah.” The edges of her vision turned wavy and dark and her legs heavy enough to drag her down. She flailed around trying to grab something to keep herself from doing a header into the porcelain.

Something grabbed her first.  

A long arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against his chest.  They were so close that his long hair fell over her shoulders and whispered against her cheek.  “I was afraid of that. I hardly took more than a sip from you, but the first time can be a bit of a shock to a delicate system.”

Nora wanted to pull away, or at least lean on the wall as much as him, but she found herself too lightheaded and even a little sick.  She managed a weak laugh, “Yeah, delicate. Me. Everyone says so. That Nora, she’s a flower.”

Loki propped himself against the sink, holding her firmly against him and ignoring her at the same time.  “It will pass in a few moments. Close your eyes, I have you. Cannot have you cracking that stubborn skull of yours, can we?” 

She did, finding the darkness helped with the nausea.  “I would think you would want that. A little household accident and you’re free.”  It felt good to rest against him like that, his skin being almost too hot, forcing her muscles to relax.

For a few moments he was quiet, which helped, and then, “That’s not how it works,” he answered.  

“How does it work, then?”  Nora felt better, and opened her eyes.  She was turned enough to see his face. It was not coy or leering or lustful, or even angry.   For a moment they just looked at each other. His eyes were pure and deep green without the tiniest flicker of hellfire in them.  He looked like a man at that moment, horns and insane beauty aside.

Which is something a crazy person would think, she thought. 

He tapped her nose, the moment broken, the smirk back, “That would be telling, pet.”  He lifted her into the shower, the lovely muscles he had clearly not just for show, “You’re fine now,” he said, and then dropped his pants with shocking ease considering how tight they were.  And how enormous he was…

“You’ll make me blush…” he purred at her.

“I’m sure that’s not possible,” she said, reaching around all of the room he took up in the shower to yank the curtain shut and then slammed the water on.  Only the cold water.

To Nora’s disgust she yelped and he burst out laughing, the water turning to steam as it touched him. 

 

Oddly, he didn’t try anything other than washing himself.  That didn’t mean that their slippery skin wasn’t constantly touching.  A fleeting brush of his arm to her side, one of her thighs pressed against his knee for a time, and so on.  When her hand landed on his ass it took real effort to not leave it there.

Afterwards, he climbed out first and dried himself.  Carefully. Slowly. Using a very lucky towel. 

Then, with a flick of his horns, his hair just dried itself, falling perfectly into place.

“Can you teach me that?”  

“No.  Comes with the job.”

He left the little bathroom, still naked, his erection the most impossible spectrum of reds and purple at the head where it aimed towards heaven.  

Nora was a little confused.  She dried her hair the normal way, leaving it static-y and wild and was happy she had left an old, terry-cloth robe of Claire’s in the bathroom at some point.

Loki was waiting in the hallway.  “That is the ugliest garment I have seen you yet.  It is quite the accomplishment.” He smelled like fire and tangerines and fucking, now even more than he had before the shower.  “Take it off.”

“I really don’t like being told what to do.”

“I know.  It’s cute.  Now take it off.”

“Alright, but only because I want to,” she opened the belt and let the robe drop.  In a motion so quick Nora couldn’t see it, Loki had grabbed the end of the belt before the whole thing fell, whipped it free, and had Nora’s wrists bound and her arms looped over his head.

His knees were bent enough that his cock was between her legs, laying along her slit and he ground against her.  Nora’s head fell back, “You know I could burn this off and be free in a second, right?” 

Bits of flame danced around her fingertips but went no further.

He ran wet, sucking kissed up her neck, biting at her pulse hard enough to bruise, “That’s the fun part for me, my precious little witch.  Knowing you can and knowing you will not.” A big hand wrapped about her thigh and lifted it over his hip. 

She could feel the hellfire from his eyes even without looking.  

The rough, stucco wall scraped Nora’s back as he lifted her onto his cock, using it to hold her in place so it could be slow.  The size of the head was a shock, stretching her, and she tightened around him like a nervous virgin. 

Or so she thought.  Nora hadn’t actually been nervous when was a virgin.  But she was more than making it for now, her mind running in circles screaming, “This is crazy!”  And “Why are you doing this stupid thing?” And “He’s just doing this to control you! To feed and make you pliant so you’ll free him.”  

And “More!”  

He put a hand behind her, holding her close to his chest and whispered in her ear, “Relax.  Just relax,” his tone was… surprised more than cajoling, and he stopped moving, just holding her there between him and the wall.

“I’m just, I know I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said.  “But like you said, you get people to do what they really want to do.”

“Yes, but normally they-,” he sounded confused, no, wondering.  Abruptly he stopped himself. Nora could feel his sneer against her cheek and he ground against her again, his voice full of anger as he hissed something in Enochian - which she recognized but didn’t understand - thrusting up with his hips enough to fill her.  

She had never been nearly so full, the feel of him hitting her cervix both painful and something she had always wanted.  

Her thighs locked around him and her tied hands reached for nothing as the robe sash started to fray from the pressure, and the orgasm came out of nowhere, wracking her and when it started to calm down he did something with his cock, something that made it hotter in her and somehow he had his hand between them strumming carelessly across her clit so it happened again. 

And again.

All the while he seemed to be waiting, impassive and a little cold for her to finish finishing.  Except when she did he would do some other thing to her - whispering in the darkest voice all of the things he knew she wanted done to her, to do, but that had never been, or reaching beneath her, roughly rubbing her anus with a nail that was almost a talon and giving a dirty laugh as she buried her face against his chest when that set her off again.  

When she was finally, utterly limp, only then did he start slowly fucking her.

 

_ England, around the same time (but six hours later, because, you know, there’s the time difference _ )...

“I think I’ve found your cousin’s demon,” Thomas said, dropping an open book in front of Maura and pointing to a paragraph halfway down the illuminated page.  “How is your Latin, Miss McClaren?”

Maura shook her head, “Not that good.  I can’t even read that script.”

“It’s a rare hand only used by a monks in a monastery that had been anathamised by the pope in the fourteenth century for unnatural acts,” he leaned over the book, a stern frown on his face giving Maura a not unhappy shiver. 

It might have been his frown or the fact that she hadn’t had a stitch on for the last few hours.  Thomas thought it would help her remember to keep on task with the research. 

“Very unnatural,” he said, half admiringly.  He took a seat and gestured for her to sit on his lap.  When she did so, he shook his head and she changed her position to straddle his leg.  “I’ll translate... But if I am reading this part correctly, which of course I am, we may have to take a little field trip before we’re done.”

 

_ In Chicago, the next morning _ …..

Loki took up most of her bed, sprawled in splendor on his stomach, one of his legs inadvertently hooked over one of hers, his perfect ass not entirely covered by her old chenille bedspread.  She was pretty sure that was purposeful but unconscious on his part.

Laying in perfect, tantalizing deshabille probably also came with the job.  

So why, if there were so many perks, had there been something about the way he said ‘the job’ that made her think for just a second that he’d rather like to resign.   

Nora didn’t mind him taking up the space.  She’d never seen the demon sleep before and it gave her a chance to think, something she hadn’t done since the afternoon before.  

To think and to look at him a little longer.  At his long lashes, and the width of his shoulders, and the perfect, lean curve of his hip, and each feature touched by the softness of sleep. The way the sharp tip of one ivory horn gleamed in the sun and the other had some of his silken hair wrapped about it.  She reached out and touched a lock of that hair that had spilled across his pillow onto hers, gently petting it and thinking about everything they had done in the however many hours.  

More to the point, thinking about what he _ hadn’t _ done.  Not even once.   

“I must improve my technique if you are not only still awake but are able to think as hard as you are now,” he spoke very softly, sleepily, reaching out to pull her against him.  

The gesture made Nora feel funny.  Not an ‘Oh god, he’s going to permanently rearrange my insides this time. Yay!’ kind of feeling.  A more insidious, dangerous one. 

“Your technique is perfect, you know that you demonic ass,” she said, trying to pull away and finding that she couldn’t.  ‘Please let that be because I’m too tired,’ she thought. “Perfect on the giving end of things, anyway…” she muttered.

He climbed over her, caging her with his body, looking down with a chill arrogance, “Trust me, precious, it was perfect on my end too.  I haven’t had a feast like you since one immortal night with a vampire in a garden pavilion in Kyoto a thousand years ago. His hair was white as snow and his cock was like marble with a foreskin.  Delightful. He tried to drain me, I tried to drain him, what fun we had.”

“I don’t feel especially drained, I can only tell you’re feeding by your eyes turning red. Uhhhh...” she moaned as his knee pressed against her over-sensitive parts. 

He very gently rubbed his leg against her, “You are quite the powerhouse.  It will take me days and days to finish you off at this point.”

She moaned, raising up to nip at his nipple ring and worry it a bit between her front teeth.  His head fell forwards, his groan twining with her own sounds in a dirty harmony. 

“At least one of us is finishing…”  Nora managed to say.

He stopped, cocking his head, his expression annoyed, “And what does that mean?”

She found herself rubbing against him now and wasn’t able to stop. It felt too right. He didn’t even seem to register she was doing it.  

No doubt Loki couldn’t go to get a salted caramel five shot mocha - his drink of choice Nora had learned when one of his phone buddies had shown up at her place naked except for a padlocked bike chain around her hips, carrying four of them - without any number of his fellow customers committing random acts of frottage on various parts of his person.   

“I mean you don’t come, do you?” she said.  “Does that come with the job, too? Perfect hair, smell like heaven, no orgasms?”  

His teeth gritted and he used his legs to shove hers aside so she couldn’t please herself on him any longer.  “Nothing about me is heaven, pet,” he bit out. “I’m from hell, of hell, and in hell every moment, never forget it.”  There was no emotion in his voice as he finished, then he turned coy again, “Enough chat. I’m getting hungry and as a good hostess I’m sure you can’t have that.”

Pushing all of the blankets from the bed, he slithered backwards until he was staring between her legs, “So red and sore looking… your poor, pretty cunt…” He placed the flat of his tongue at her opening and licked broadly up to where he used it to cup her tender clit. 

Again, everything was too much and too little as he used her clit to fuck his tongue, his hands not touching her.  When she reached for his head he batted her away and leaned up on his elbow, idly tracing circles around her navel.  “Isn’t it good enough? Maybe I should stop…”

“No, don’t…”

“Say please, and I’ll get  all of those nasty orgasms out of you.”

“Are you sure you aren’t the actual devil?” she spat at him.  Then, “Fine. Please.”

“He’s blonde.  And when he fucks you no one comes.  Now how many orgasms do you have in here?  Why don’t you play with your sweet little pearl whilst I investigate?”  He asked, taking her hand and holding it for a second, then pressing it against her clit as his tongue lapped into her.

_ And now back to England _ ….

The monks of the Order of  _ Dux Noctis Tenebris Aliquet  _ had been the Order of Saint Simeon the Blind until 1327 when their abbot purchased an unusual, heretical statue from a very tired looking pilgrim who needed the extra money to go to Canterbury and pray for mercy for his and his wife’s many, many, many sins.  

The statue and it’s inhabitant had quickly become the only object of veneration for those holy men and even centuries later they still guarded the secrets of their devil god closely.  

And with knives.

Luckily, Maura was feeling very keyed up that morning when she and Thomas visited the Abbey.  Keyed up and in need of a release. 

Thrashing about twenty demonically inclined monks with her own, personally created version of witchcraft enhanced eskrima, using two athames in place of the usual sticks, was just what the doctor ordered.

Thomas looked at the carnage and the sweating, heaving, witch, her hair wild, her knives dripping blood but not a drop of it on her.  It was all he could do to concentrate on the images painted on the wall of the sanctuary. His erection was demanding solace and a very bad part of him was thinking of how having Maura submit to him was like making a tiger into a kitten and all he wanted was to watch her lap up milk.  

‘Later,’ he said to himself, turning the light of his torch towards the walls.  They told a very interesting story, about a very unusual fallen angel. 

Only this one hadn’t fallen.

He’d been pushed.

 

_ And now back to where we started _ …..

“So I’m sending you a file, then.  It has everything Thomas put together about your demon’s history.”

“Does it include his real name?” Nora asked, looking nervously towards the kitchen where Loki was making something that smelled amazing and not like it could have been made with anything she had in the house.  

“No.  We don’t have that yet.  Turns out he isn’t the only angel that was kicked out of heaven who goes by Loki, which caused a little confusion on our side.  There’s this one in Wisconsin of all places, but never mind that. Just take a look. It might help. Knowledge is power and all to that.”  

Maura leaned forward, a look of concern on her pretty face, “Are you ok, love?  You look a bit peaky. You’re not… you know, are you?”

“Hey, you know me,” Nora said, leaning back, grandly sipping coffee.

“Ah, feck!” Maura said, “I do know you!  You tell that wee demon of your’s that if he hurts one hair on your head I’m going to have his horns for coat hooks.”

“Duly noted, Nora’s puissant cousin,” Loki said from over Nora’s shoulder.  He reached out and turned off the connection. “Now,” he crooned close in her ear, “if you wanted to know about me, all you had to do was ask, precious.  Shall I tell you a story? It’s all about the prissiest, most puritanical angel that ever was and how he managed to get on the bad side of both God and the Devil.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uncalled for Dogma reference was uncalled for.


	4. The Most Problematic Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author flirts with blasphemy and Loki flirts with Nora.

“Once upon a time, the-”

“You are kidding, right?” Nora interrupted.  

They were on her porch with cups of tea and whisky.  It was the end of October and it was one of the last nights that would probably be warm enough for her to sit outside.  Also, she might be drained of her lifeforce the next time she had screaming, mind-altering orgasm delivered by the demon that was getting ready to tell her a fairytale so she should probably appreciate the nice weather while she could.  

She also thought, “I should make sure that my will is updated so Maura can inherit Loki and that wizard who is clearly boning her raw can use some kind of fancy-dan magic on him and avenge me or something.”

“About what, precious?” Loki said, dunking his Lipton bag one last time, then disposing of it with a quick burst of hellfire.

At least he was the neatest roommate she’d ever had, Nora mused.

“‘Once upon a time?’  Really?”

“I’ll have you know I invented that phrase.  In the 14th century. That was a good century for me…” he drifted off dreamily.  “Anyway, as I was saying before you were so very rude, Once Upon a Time…”

 

Once Upon a Time the god who liked to be considered The God was in His heaven, surrounded by His beautiful angels who did His bidding.  It is, I might add, a bit of an open question as to if He created us-, er, rather  _ the _ angels, or just sort of found them, but either way, His bidding they did as they all fought to be the favorite of their heavenly father.

Legend, poem, and fable will tell you that His favorite was the Morningstar, the big L, Lucifer himself.  Like a lot of things that humans come up with, probably at Luci’s prompting, this wasn’t true. Yes, Lucifer was probably the prettiest angel in the sky.  Golden waves of hair, deep golden brown skin, gilded wings, even eyes of pure gold. It sounds excessive but give that big diva his due, the boy could carry it off.  

No, it was Michael who was so strong and unimaginative that was probably Sky Daddy’s favorite.  Most of the time. He liked to play the angels off of each other to see who would do His bidding the best.

But there was another particular angel in the masses and masses of them that was as beautiful as the Morningstar.  His name is forever lost but he was the Eveningstar to Lucifer’s morning. And like the dark hours of a winter night, he was cold through and through.  He loved soaring as high as possible away from even the others of his kind, up in the frigid air. What little he would touch was left silver-gilt with frost behind him.

Where everything was perfect and cold and clean and he could be untouched forever.  And so he was for an eon, more or less, because time doesn’t really exist for eternal beings the way it does for mortals.  

And it was good.

Until  _ they _ showed up.

The humans.

One day the earth was a beautiful, blue swirl with bits of lovely green, best viewed from afar because there was all of that dirt and those nasty, shitting, eating, smelly animals down there, and the next it was just infested with humanity.  Just as foul as the animals and not nearly as attractive.

(Nora tried and failed to not take personally the tone of distaste in his voice when he said ‘humanity’).

Again, did the Big Guy make them?  Did He stumble over them? Were they left on His celestial doorstep in a big basket with a bow on top?  Inquiring minds still want to know. But regardless of where they came from they were there and He was crazy about them.  And w-, the angels quickly went from being Daddy’s Most Favoritests Toys evah to being mere messengers and guardians doing this for the humans and that for the humans. 

Ick.

Once they came along all was no longer well in the High School you call heaven.

_ Michael _ liked the humans almost as much as God did.  He loved going to earth and saving them from dragons or volcanos or whatever was trying to kill them at the moment and having them ooohhh and ahh over him.  Typical jock.

Luci, like the big theatre kid that he was, HATED that they were getting all of this attention and he just wasn’t!  Oooohhhh he was so mad he just stomped his perfect foot! They weren’t as pretty or interesting as he was, they sucked and he just couldn’t with them!

And the Eveningstar?  He was revolted. It was bad enough being consigned to earth with all of its dirty dirt, but the humans were disgusting beyond belief.  They secreted fluids and scents from every part of them, and they smelled terrible, either of filth or disease or worst of all for him, lust.  They reeked of lust and need whenever he appeared before them on Daddy’s business. Sometimes they even dared to paw at him with their nasty hands.  And they were forever filling their maws with food, and sticking parts of themselves into parts of each other. Why would they do that?

It was all he could do not to vomit.  And angels didn’t eat, or even have stomachs, so that should tell you how horrific he found all of you.

(“Thanks.  Get to the point now.”  “It’s not your fault, of course,” he said, patting her hand, then stroking it gently, then remembering what he was supposed to be doing.)

The Eveningstar just couldn’t stand it.  He was going mad and it was only getting worse as they proliferated like ticks on a dog.  

Then he saw how upset Lucifer was, and that he was far from the only angel who didn’t like servicing the humans, and he had an idea.  

All it took was a whisper, or three, in one of Luci’s perfect ears.

So there was war in heaven.  The Eveningstar of course sat it out, high above it all where he prefered to be, watching his angelic brethren and sistern fight with the viciousness only possible amongst family.  When it was over, and God had cast the losers into the pit he unfurled his wings and floated down to heaven. 

That hadn’t worked out the way he had hoped, but at least for the length of the war he hadn’t had to soil himself amongst the monkeys, so that was good.  There would be other plans, he thought as he stood on the edge of heaven, looking down into the pit. And other suckers to carry them out. Not that he thought of them that way.  He prefered the word ‘pawns’.

He was not the only angel near the edge of heaven that day.  Michael was worn, his sword dripping with angelic blood, his eyes burning with rage.  “You! (he probably actually said the Eveningstar’s name, but as I said, lost forever to us) You did this!”

“I can explain-” the Eveningstar started, while trying to come up with that explanation.

Michael wasn’t in the mood.  He bull rushed in a fury and the Eveningstar fell into the pit.

How can an angel fall?  An angel can fall. As the heat of the pit rose it stole the burning air from under his wings over and over.  He scraped at the sky, trying to pull himself up, beating against nothingness he fell and fell and fell and landed with a crash that could be heard in heaven, at the feet of Lucifer himself.

Lucifer was no happier with him than Michael had been.  He touched the tip of the Eveningstar’s perfect, swan white wings as he lay helpless and they smoldered and then caught, burning downwards with hellfire, the stench of them choking him as they burned down and down and down to his back, bones and feather both burning off of him, and then the hellfire burned INTO him through the wounds where his wings had been, burning out his angelic name, his angelic nature, burning out who and what he had been.

And all of the while Luci stood his own still pretty wings unfurled in full, a sandled foot on the small of the Eveningstar’s back, pinning him in place and pronounced his curse.  

“As you have hated the humans for their lusts and appetites, so you shall be filled with lust and appetite for them.  Lust that shall never be sated, hungers that shall never be filled. Though you be used as the basest whore, though you feed like the veriest glutton, it shall never be enough and nothing shall ever satisfy or give you ease.  As you have tempted and seduced me to my downfall, so shall you tempt and seduce them to theirs, a nameless monster until the end of all things.”

As the voice of Hell landed on him like blow after blow, the Eveningstar who was now little more than wildfire - all consuming and never quenched - felt his back bow as he took on the aspects of the humans he had loathed, and screamed in agony as horns ripped their way out of his skull, a phallus, fully engorged growing harder and harder to the point of splitting agony, tearing from between his legs.

And then it was done and when he was able to stand he was starving.  And very, very horny.

Ha, its a joke, get it?  No?

 

Loki stopped from where he had been telling the story not looking at anything and turned to her, his eyes brilliant with fire.  He put down his cup and crawled towards her. “Can you imagine it? A being who had never eaten suddenly ravenous? A being who had been basically sexless having a cock?  A very angry, hard cock? I practically cracked the earth getting to the surface, needing to get there, to the humans. I could actually taste the smell of cunt and cock,” he reached her, grabbing a thick handful of her hair and pulling her face close to his and she could feel his words on her lips.

“I fucked every human that was unfortunate enough to cross my path, I fucked them and they threw themselves on me and my fire burned through them and I wet my dick in every hole I could find and I sucked the life from them and it did nothing.  I burned and burned and it was the most exquisite agony and I couldn’t get enough.”

He pulled her to her knees and then lay down so she could straddle his body.  Nora pulled her nightgown up and unbuttoned the suede jeans he was wearing. He sprang eagerly free, as ever, and she bent over, softly kissing the head of his cock, rubbing her face against the length of it, loving the musty smell that even he gave off, as well as scent of fire just beneath his burning hot skin.  

When she sucked him in, the faint salt taste of his skin and the wet coming from the head made her mouth water.  He tasted so good. Better than anything Nora had ever tasted, and she lay her cheek on his thigh so she could just go on and on.  He pushed farther in, and she took everything, past the point she had taken any man in the past, wanting to make him happy.

Knowing now that she couldn’t.

“Nora…” he sighed out, “Nora come fuck me, precious, ride me.  Let me watch you fall apart.” His voice was delirious, as if he couldn’t remember who he was supposed to be and what game they were playing.

Reluctantly, she eased him from her throat and then her mouth, with a last little kiss.  She lifted her nightgown further up so she could settle down onto him. Nora had stopped bothering to wear underpants since the second day they had been fucking, since Loki would just make them disappear and never return them.  When she had asked him what became of them he told her that he had a pocket dimension where he kept all of the undergarments that he liked from his conquests and that when he had enough freedom and was in great need he would go there and roll around in them. 

She believed him and was horrified.  Now, even more so after hearing his story.  

Also, she refused to contribute any further to his mountain of kink.  Good panties were expensive.

As she held her gown up, he reached down and teased his wet tip against her, circling her tender clit, and then parting her so he could slide in, arching his back to meet her, his lean hips fitting perfectly between her wide legs, the bones of them scraping her, then grabbing her waist to pull her down so they ground together.

Her thighs shook and ached with the strain as she worked herself up and down on him.  The stress of it, the pain from the wooden floor of the porch, the effort of the quick cantrip she’d suddenly realised she should say to make anyone passing by or in one of the neighboring houses not notice them, and the intensity of the heat from his body, from his eyes, as he burned them into her, made sweat roll down her body, her old cotton gown sticking to her.

Loki reached up and took the collar of it in his hands and it burned away, leaving her clad in ashes and smoke.  His fingers wrapped about her breasts, her nipples peeking out from between them, pinched and deeply red. All of the while, she could feel, really feel for the first time him feeding from her, drawing her life to him, through everywhere they touched, through every higher surge of that cock that made her cunt grip him tighter.  

She twisted and rocked and thrust and could not do enough.  Nothing was enough.

It felt amazing.  To be totally consumed, to know that he would be able to take everything she could give and then would take what she couldn’t.  

“Harder, treasure,” he ordered her, the cool sarcasm of his tone lancing through her heart.  That was ok, she wasn’t too worried about her heart at the moment Nora planted her hands on his chest, the firm give of his pectorals letting her ride him so the boards of the porch complained. “Grind me to dust beneath you,” his voice was a pant now, nothing cool about it.

A part of her brain knew that was crazy, but her body and the rest of her brain told it to just be quiet and mind its own business as the orgasm built and built, getting stronger as she grew weaker, like some kind of fucked up, supernatural version of erotic asphyxiation.  When it finally slammed into her the blackness that had been filling her head turned to brightness as waves of pleasure came from every part of her that had been starved for life, as he somehow, for some reason, seemed to reverse his theft, letting the life he had stolen flow back into her, bringing some of his with it.

Even the brush of air was erotic, Loki’s voice licked over her, and she fell onto his chest, loving breathing, loving the coldness as the sweat dried on her, and terribly afraid she might be loving him just a little bit.

 

What was he doing?  Had the ages finally made him a complete imbecile?  Telling the witch that story? Even as he finished it, he had felt that first madness, when Lucifer had condemned him to be all that he had loathed, to revel and suffocate in the stink and need of the humans, seducing and destroying.  It had been all he could do not to just throw Nora onto her back and rut like a beast.

He wanted that even now as she lay dazed upon him, her sweet body exhausted but still shuddering now and then with aftershocks of pleasure.  

He had feasted on her, gorging on her life where before he had only been sipping, feeling her delightful power flow into him, as her warm feelings after hearing his pitiful tale of woe meant she was just giving it to him.  She was practically throwing her life at him in big, luscious handfuls, whilst riding him so deliciously.

But when the final moment came, he threw it all right back at her!  Like an idiot! As if he somehow enjoyed being shackled to this girl!

She sighed and snuggled against him.

He lifted his head and kissed the top of hers.  

Horrified, he shoved her off. 

“Wha-”  She sat up, dazed.

“I hope that spell you cast covered noises too, or your neighbors are going to be dining out on this story for years,” he said idly, going in for a shower.

 

_ In England, very early in the morning _ ….

Thomas rolled over, waking up and surprised to find himself alone.  He must be losing his touch if Maura had not only woken up before him, but had been able to get out of bed without groaning loudly enough to wake the dead.

He found her, several empty tea cups at her elbow, quickly pounding the keys of her magically enhanced laptop, her mouth whispering steadily in Gaelic as she worked, mixing the words of the spell and the whatever-they-weres of her homemade program.  It was a pleasure to watch her work, her beautiful mouth curved upwards as she went.

With a last flourish of typing, she sat back, “There, I got you, fucker!”

“Got who, witchling?” he asked, looking at the screen and not understanding any of it.

“Oh, how long have you been there, Sir?  The incubus, Loki. Something in the records you translated about him and the prayers the monks used to offer to him to give him more strength made me think of a curse my great gran Anna placed on a  _ gean-cánach _ who was tormenting the girls in Roscommon in the century before last.  He wouldn’t be so powerful as our fella, but if I combined it with some elements of that prayer, and the tie he already has to that statue I thought this might work to trap him in it.  At least for a century or two.”

Although Thomas enjoyed the study of magic as well as the practice of his own discipline witchcraft had always been an area of weakness for him simply because they were able to keep secrets and didn’t like to share them with outsiders.  But there was a practical, groundedness to Maura’s magic that he had nothing but admiration for. “This is brilliant.”

Maura smirked at him, “Not bad for a hedge, if I do say so myself.”

If Thomas was right about Maura’s connection to her Celtic gods, she was far more than a hedge, but he was keeping that he knew that little secret of hers to himself for the time being.  “Of course, your cousin will have to be engaged in coitus with the demon whilst she recites the spell or it won’t work. Will that be a problem?”

Maura’s eyes were terribly sad and worried as she looked at him, slowly shaking her head.

He kissed her on the top of her head, “I promise you, if this doesn’t work, I will find a way to save Nora, no matter what it takes.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist and settled against him with a trusting sigh.

 

_ Back in Chicago, a few days later _ …

Nora entered the back of her house, carrying too many grocery bags.  Some filled with little candy bars and small, noisy toys to give away on Halloween, the others filled with ritual items and other things she would need for Samhain and to decorate her altar.

As well as to prepare for the spell.  

It would be best to do it on Halloween, she figured.  Even though she was a solid witch she lacked Maura’s power and her extra oomph with the gods (which she could keep - walking around with the Great Queen talking to and through you now and then was more oomph than Nora wanted, thank you very much), so she needed all of the help she could get doing one of her cousin’s spells.  

Actually, at this point the spell wasn’t her biggest worry, it was Loki, who had not touched her since the night on the porch.  So far the sex zombies hadn’t started to congregate again, though that was just a matter of time. Which was the only good part of it, since now that she’s had him trying to not be constantly wanting to...

Constantly wanting was it.

When she tried to bring it up he changed the subject, flicking his hair back and giving her a kindly look that made her want to punch it off his face.  

What was the most shocking part since he didn’t seem to have had any other subjects but sex before now.  Suddenly he was spouting politics (mostly of the pre-modern era), music, philosophy, cooking, anything that existed in the world, Loki had thoughts on.  He was, of course, witty and knowledgeable, and if it hadn’t been for the sight of his erection gently throbbing against the tight leather of his pants Nora might have paid attention.

It was a little embarrassing that he’d been the one to want to go back to just being roomies.  Sitting on the couch where they had done so many things recently just to watch television made her feel as desirable as a loaf of bread at a celiac sufferers convention.

That he had also taken back up with his phone slaves was just another nail in her self esteem.  Once she got him out of her house and her mind Nora was going to hit the bars like the fist of a horny goddess.  

She quickly hid most of the bags of candy, using the spell Claire used to use to hide things from her when she was little.  This was the third time she had gone to the store, Loki having his way through a small fortune in Kit Kats and tiny Three Musketeers already.  

The final bag -  tiny Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups that were his favorite - she left in the center of the old kitchen table with a note telling him that this was it, if he wanted more he could get someone else to buy them for him.  Then she dipped her finger in a little wine she had saved before and then in honey, and carefully drew a series of markings around the bag, which disappeared.

Sighing, Nora carried the other bags up to her working room to get everything ready to say goodbye to him.  She had to be the first person in history to have to use a lust spell just to get an incubus to fuck her.

  
  
  
  



	5. I Fucked My Way Into This Problem and You’re Going to Fuck My Way Out Of It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

_ England, in a cab heading to the airport…  _

“I thought your cousin was a capable witch.  Your spell is clever and elegantly simple so I’m not really sure what the rush to the states is about,” Thomas said, checking his pocket watch for the hundredth time.  He may not have wanted to be going at all, but if he was being forced to travel he hated to be late.

“She is.  Nora’s first rate, but I keep thinking about… I saw him.  The incubus. He’s…” she drifted off and for a displeased moment Thomas thought it was in a dreamy fashion, but he realized she was deep in thought.  “Nora’s always been smart, but he’s... “

“Yes, we’ve established  _ he’s  _ something, but what?” he asked, annoyed.

She turned to face him, a scowl on her lovely face, “He’s like the physical embodiment of every bad decision Nora ever made.  She would tell you she doesn’t have a type, but she does.” She started ticking off points on her finger, “Black hair, check. Tall, really tall, check.  Kind of skinny. Kind of built. Kind of pretty. Kind of scary. Dangerous. Impressive. A raging smartass. Regal. Impossible. Check check check check check check check AND check!”

Thomas counted to himself.  “I think you missed a check in there.”

“That’s not the point!  He’s everything Nora liked in other guys, except all together in one guy.  Demon. In one demon. And he has a really big dick. I know she likes that too.”

“You really are very close with your cousin, aren’t you?” he frowned.

Maura patted his hand, “Why is it that men are always surprised that women talk smut to each other?  Even the cleverest ones?”

 

_ Halloween morning _ …

Loki was making breakfast and Nora took the opportunity to go to her working room alone and put the last touches on her altar.  He had barely looked at her during the last day, and had only spoken to make a comment or two about the holiday. At one point he started to tell her what would be an exquisitely salacious story about how he went Trick or Treating in New Orleans one time when he stopped himself and said he had a taste for waffles.

Nora was so disappointed she could have cried.  She loved New Orleans.

It was her first Samhain since Claire had died, and even though their family weren’t exactly part of any of the more formal witchcraft traditions they had always celebrated Halloween with all of the whistles and bells.  

Long ago, before Nora had been born, the house had been the sight of some wild, decadent parties with her boyfriend Bobby, a witch who had died in a freak accident during a tantric inspired ritual that ended up destroying the whole apartment building he lived in.  Claire never got over him, but always said that she was glad that she had been in Toledo that weekend otherwise she would have been dead too.

“Dead, but probably smiling,” she added wistfully.

Later when Nora had been a kid and first come to live with Claire to learn the family business, those bacchanals had changed to kid’s parties, with haunted houses in the garage, hokey music being played on the piano, Claire belting out “Halloween spooks,” seasonal cartoons on the tv, and way too much candy.  

The last years since Nora had moved back in with her ailing aunt had been quieter, but the Walsh house was still the one place on the block with the most chocolate and the best toys for the kids who couldn’t partake in the more traditional swag.  

This year she had mini-Pusheens wearing candy corn witches hats.

When Claire died Nora had a bonfire with her aunt’s most personal magical effects, but she had appropriated her altar.  Claire’s altar was a 19th century mahogany sideboard from Ireland, carved with elaborate swirls of vines and leaves, a green man face, and a majestic stag crowned like the Forest Lord.  Nora’s had been a plastic folding table she’d bought on sale at Joann Fabrics and painted brown. 

Claire would understand.

Nora poured a shot of Redbreast into one of Claire’s Waterford rocks glasses, and lit the Jack-o-lantern and the black and grey candles with a wave of her hand.  The spell insured they would not burn out until midnight. She fussed with the maple, elm, and oak leaves she had brought to scatter over the surface, and ate one of the apples she had placed here and there.  

In the middle of it all, Loki’s statue smirked at her, as if to say, “Sorry, pet, who would think someone would be dull enough in bed to lose  _ my  _ interest…?”  It had taken the first part of Maura’s really brilliant spell and a hundred dollars in bay leaves just to move the thing the few feet into the workroom and when Nora placed in on the table it made an ominous click, as if to tell her it wasn’t going to be moved again.

She flipped him off and kept crunching the apple, circling the table.

It looked beautiful.  Much nicer than her usual kind of haphazard set up.  She needed everything to be perfect. On the floor, between the altar and the window that she had draped with black and green gauze that had been washed in spring water and salt, was a pile of pillows stolen from everywhere in the house.  That lust spell better work or she had gone to all of this for nothing. Just to be on the safe side she was going to take a shower and break out a bar of the goats’ milk soap a vouduine she knew from Louisiana had given her. It was said to attract love, and by the way she said the word ‘love’ she clearly meant the physical kind, not the makes you stupid kind.  

A girl could use all the help she could get, and it smelled really good.

Loki had even taken to wearing a version of normal clothes.  RIght now he was making waffles dressed in black jeans and a long, untucked oxford cloth shirt.  Granted, both were very tight and his sleeves were rolled up like a whore, but the message was clear.  He had no interest in enticing her any longer.

The statue seemed to wink at her.  

If this went right Loki’d be trapped in it for at least ten years for every year she lived after performing the spell.  Which would be great, right? The world, and she, would be safe from all of that great sex and life eating. And his smile, and that crazy laugh, and the sound of his voice, and the critiques of her clothing and hair care products.

“Oh Claire, I really could use you now,” Nora muttered.  “I’m in a lot of trouble here. I like him. It’s crazy, I know that, but I do, I  _ like  _ him.  I… I find him likeable, if you can believe that shit.  It’s not just the sex, although the sex is… I don’t have the vocabulary for the sex… but it’s him. He’s a demon, and everything about him is seduction and lies, but he’s funny, he tells the best stories.  You’d like him too, I know you would. And he cooks really, really well, which seems weird for a demon, right? The thought of him trapped -”

The curtains stirred, blowing outward so they snagged on the altar, rustling some of the leaves, and for a second Nora could have sworn she heard Claire’s voice.  Not the weak, old voice of her last years, but young and musical, and just about laughing at her niece. 

“ _ Gelusael. _ ”  

Nora flicked at her ear, not sure what she’d just heard.

“What?  What the hell is that?  Did you have a stroke on the other side?”  

“ _ Gelusael, kid, remember it _ .”  Then there was silence.  Nora fixed the curtains and the leaves.  She could smell bacon. Time for breakfast.

 

_ Halloween evening _ …

The doorbell had never stopped ringing.  

Loki had just seated himself again, eager to finish watching his personal version of The Bride of Frankenstein - where some properly erotic imagination had gone into the creation of the monster and his mate - when it jingled again.  “I got it this time,” Nora called out from the kitchen where she had been making popcorn and getting more beer.

As much as he tried not to, he found himself watching her as she stalked on those long legs down the little hall, carrying a new bag of candy to refill the once again depleted plastic cauldron.  

Nora was a sexy witch.

That was always true, of course.  In his thousands of years of fucking his way through humanity, specializing in magical practitioners for that extra little something he got from swallowing their lives, Nora was  _ the _ sexiest witch he had ever known.  He damned her to the hottest pit of Hell for it.  

But tonight she was entirely on the nose and it was wearing out his last nerve.  It was the most divine thing Loki had seen since he’d plummeted into the pit. 

A short black dress with a scarlet tulle petticoat and a low enough bodice that she had to put on a scarf when she answered the door, lest she accidentally send some of the kiddies into premature adolescence, fishnets, thigh high black boots that he longed to unzip with his teeth, and a big, pointy hat perched on her coffee coloured bob at a jaunty angle.  

She’d even put on some very red lip stain that would look perfectly marvelous smeared all over her mouth and his cock.

Who was he trying to deceive?  He wanted every bit of her bedecking his phallus, not merely her M.A.C.  _ Ruby Woo _ .  Those long legs should be squeezing his hand, his head, his waist, should be thrown over his shoulders, should be bent beneath her as he took her in every possible way as well as several that only could only be achieved if they both used up a _ lot  _ of magical power.  The raging need he had for her had only gotten worse during these last days of his trying not to fuck her.  

‘Not fucking’ was not a language Loki spoke and his always hard and irritable cock was bruising his stomach with anger.  “Sorry, my friend,” he said, gently stroking himself through his pants, “but that witch is a trial to both of us. I can’t make myself drain her so you don’t get to pleasure her.”

One more encounter like that last one and he’d end up being the one drained.

When she plopped on the sofa too close to him so bits of her bounced at him, her nipples practically begging him for assistance, putting her boots on the table so the leather rubbed again the side of his bare foot, Loki came very close to punching himself between the legs for the distraction.  

“Whew,” she said lifting her long hair and fanning the back of her neck with a languid hand, “I think that’s the end of them.  Want any popcorn?”

She offered him the large bowl, “No, I am quite satisfied with these.  Thank you for them,” he said, opening one of the bags of little peanut butter and chocolate confections that he had saved to eat tonight, the sweets being one of the only things that could momentarily distract him from Nora.

The candy was melting in his mouth when she took a handful of popcorn, and sat back, taking one piece at a time using the moist tip of her tongue.

 

_ At the same time at the Langham Hotel in Downtown Chicago _ …

Maura looked over her shoulder at Thomas, wondering if they shouldn’t be heading to Nora’s now.  They had just stopped to drop off their bags and shower after the long flight but-

He frowned at her, “I suggest you concentrate, little girl,” he cautioned.  And then did that thing with his hips.

Maura moaned.

 

_ A few minutes later, at Nora’s house _ …

Ok, that worked, Nora thought as Loki pulled her to straddle him and stood, one hand under her ass and the other spread broadly across her back, pushing her chest against his.  Her knees clutched his sides, her boots dug into the sides of his thighs. She wrapped one her hands around a horn and the other in his hair. His mouth was on her neck, searing her skin, making her squirm against him like a kid making out for the first time, gasping.

Retaliating, she licked the edge of his ear, blowing and nipping for good measure.  

He bit her.  

She loved it. 

She pulled his hair.

He loved it.

She lost her hat somewhere, he lost his sweater.  She snagged a finger through his nipple ring and twisted hard enough to make him bite her again.

When they got to her bedroom door, he kicked it open, destroying it in the process.  Nora couldn’t have cared less, “Keep going,” she moaned, writhing harder against him, pushing down so she could feel the outline of his cock.  “Go into my working room. I want to celebrate the season.” Whatever the fuck that means in this context, she thought.

Fortunately that door was open.  He dropped her onto the stack of pillows, not questioning why she would have them there.  If you have a cock like his, everything probably looked like a bed. 

“I’m going to fuck you until I can’t walk, witch.  So sorry if it kills you,” he said, falling to his knees between her legs, undoing his belt and unbuttoning his fly but not taking his pants off, his eyes not just flickering with red hellfire but almost white with heat.

He didn’t magic her clothing away either, clearly that would take too long.  Instead he thrust a finger into her, roughly stroking her g-spot and then sucked her clit until she was wet enough for him.

Sitting back on his heels, he grabbed her legs and pulled her up his thighs and onto his cock, so she was splayed helplessly before him, with him rubbing places inside of her, outside of her, watching her, his mouth wet.  For what seemed like years he pinched her nipples and fucked into her in that position, her equilibrium lost, her boot heels gouging the wooden floor and she begged for release. 

Loki held up a hand and she watched his talons grow a bit so he could lightly scratch over her mons.  Nora’s overly sensitive skin went crazy. Her whole body convulsed, not just her cunt, as spasm after spasm of pleasure wracked her.  He lifted her up, so she was now wrapped around him - arms, legs, cunt, his cock as deep as it could go. 

When her brain reformed and she could remember the spell, she realized he hadn’t even tried to feed on her.

Now his hips moved slowly, gently undulating, as he tenderly nuzzled her neck, her cheek, her ear, “Again, treasure, again,” he whispered to her, distracted and panting, as long fingers found their way between them to pet and worship her clit.  “I want to see you this close when you come. I want the smell of you to stain my body. I want the feel of you to bruise me.”

Nora needed to, she twisted against his hand, but Loki pushed into her back so she was still outside, while inside she throbbed, the blazing length of his cock making her crazy.  The next orgasm was just as intense as the first, but slower, leaving her shaking against him, so when he lay her down and covered her, for a second Nora hid herself under his body, too vulnerable for anything else.

No.  She had to hold it together.  Quietly, so quietly that he couldn’t hear her over his own panting, and the dirty, exquisite stream of consciousness that came from him as he fucked her now, she started the spell, the tangle of Gaelic unraveling from her lips, the power of it centering in her solar plexus.  

Nora had never fainted but she was pretty sure it was going to happen if she didn’t finish before he finished her again.  Except… Except he felt so good in her, over her, his beautiful face more transported than she had ever seen it, almost kind, the need of it in his eyes.  The words of the spell fell away from her when he moaned her name, “Nora, Nora what are you doing to me?”

Nothing.  Was doing nothing.  Could do nothing. She was helpless.  His glide and thrust started to grow ragged, like when a man was close to finishing, and the simple, everyday-ness of it was too much for Nora.  When she came she screamed nonsense, and she whispered.

 

“ _ Gelusael... _ ”

 

Loki’s body, long inured to the constant burning within in him seemed to turn into the purest black flame and the whitest ice at the same time as everything that had been seared away from him by Lucifer’s curse flooded back into his long corrupt form.  

His name.  His angelic, long banished name.

His true nature.

The satisfaction he had been ever denied was a storm of pleasure too much for even his immortal body.  The orgasm, and his final, true understanding of what it was that so many, many lovers and victims had received from him, begged him for, died for, now tore out of him in a blast of dark power and magnificent pleasure.  

With his last sane thought he directed it’s magical manifestation out in every direction but towards Nora.

The physical part?  

That she would have to endure.  

He made her join him, unwilling to face it alone.

 

_ November 2nd _ …

The pounding on Nora’s door was loud enough to wake her, despite it being dawn and that she was still recovering from Halloween night.  

For a second she wondered if it was her guilt stricken cousin and her wizard, who had shown up in the aftermath on All Saints Day.  Maura apologized a thousand times and helped her clean up while Thomas examined the powdered shards that were all that was left of Loki’s statue, with lots of hmmming.  

Nora hadn’t been able to deal with the company and had sent them back to their hotel, telling them to come back today.

No, they wouldn’t be at her place that early.

Snatching up the long black sweater she used for robe, and a handful of the protective herbs she kept in by her bed - which, if they failed magically could always be thrown into a rapist’s face since cinnamon and pepper both burned eyes like a motherfucker - and hobbled down the stairs.  

A great, hulking shape was visible through the glass of her door.  Perhaps she had ended her demon problem just in time to have a Sasquatch try to move in to the neighborhood, she mused, while shouting, “Who is it?  I have a lot of knives and I have no problem murdering anyone!” 

“It’s me, you meddling hag!”  

Loki.

Nora jerked the door open.  He stood there, his horns almost brushing her porch light, his massive black fur coat hanging from his shoulders, glaring at her.  His lip curled in a furious sneer, taking deep, angry breaths as if he was about to hyperventilate from pure rage.

“What.  Have. You.  Done. To. Me?” he bit out.

She jerked back from the force of his words, “What do you mean, ‘What. Have. I. Done. To. You?’” she spat at him, mocking his fancy accent.  “I freed you, clearly. Like an idiot.” 

Visibly trying to calm himself, he shrugged off his coat, “I mean this!”

Nora’s hand opened and an icy breeze whipped picked up the herbs so they swirled in the air around her and him as she froze in shock.

From his shoulders there sprouted a pair of huge, glorious crow's wings, framing his perfect body and maddened face.

“Uh oh…” Nora said.


End file.
